


Red Wine and Butterflies

by DecayethSea



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood, Butterflies, Death, Gen, Hunter Exam (Hunter X Hunter), Mild Horror, One Shot, Other, Zevil Island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecayethSea/pseuds/DecayethSea
Summary: The blood butterflies like blood.
Relationships: Butterflies/Blood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Red Wine and Butterflies

The butterflies slowly flap their wings.  
They sit on the petals, proboscis working to gather up food, gently flapping their wings slowly.  
One crawls over a bump, and sinks its mouth into the center of a pool.  
Another lands gently on the ground next to a long and matted mess of string.  
They swarm above their food source like vultures.  
But vultures in a flower field.  
And all is quiet.  
One lands on a ridge. It’s pale. It’s lifeless.  
Another lands in the folds of a flower, and sips the red food like wine.  
They continue to swarm, wings beating gently on the breeze.

There is distant shouting, screams, horror, death.

But here is stillness.

The butterflies land.   
They crawl forward on small segmented legs, and they lap up the liquid spilling all around them as if it’s the most delicious thing in the world.  
They run into each other, bumping wings and their scales fall off, littering the flowers with iridescent particles.   
One lands on a dark piece of leather.

Leather? 

In a flower field?

It crawls further up, onto white.   
Textured white, with ridges and bumps, and it’s fabric, and sewn, and so are the flowers.

The butterfly crawls further up, onto pale, ashen, dead skin.  
And further up it continues, all the way onto the flowers, with pinks and blues and yellows and pale oranges and greens and all the pretty colors…  
But then they’re stained red, red as wine, red as paint, red as… red as blood.

And it’s blood, from deep wounds in the body’s stomach, seeping through the gashes, leaving the girl like her life has already left her, and there’s a puddle around her that the butterflies are drinking from, that they are consuming like it’s wine.  
Her hair is a matted mess of brown-stained-red string, spilling out from under her head and into the gentle greens of the grass.  
Her features are hardened, they’re shiny, and look like glass, breakable, but already broken. Her sea-blue eyes stare vacantly at the sky, glazed over.  
A butterfly lands on her eye, its feet slipping in the goop.  
It slowly flaps its wings.


End file.
